


We all go to Hell

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hallucinating Sam Winchester, Hell, Hellhounds, Mental Instability, Sam Winchester and Dogs, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Have you ever stopped and thought about what Hell might do if it no longer had a leader?Well, neither had Team Free Will 2.0, until they had to...Sam, stricken seemingly by madness, ends up in a secure clinic. But when Sam disappears from the clinic, Dean, Cas and Jack realize that this isn't Sam's life finally taking its toll on his mental health. Racing to find a way down into the depths of Hell, the rest of Team Free Will hope they can reach Sam in time and bring him back in one piece. Of course nothing is ever just that simple.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Wnchester & Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91
Collections: 2019 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge





	1. Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fourth time taking part in the SPN Reverse Bang and I am super grateful for another chance to do so.
> 
> I want to say thank you to the amazing Aceriee for creating some utterly fantastic art for this year's bang. This is my second time pairing with Aceriee on this bang and I just adore the art that I've worked with both times. This year is extra special for me as it's helped me to work in some of my favorite Sam related tropes. You can find the art masterpost for this year on [AO3 here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345907), and on [Tumblr here](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/spnrb2019htbhell).
> 
> Thank you to the allspnships Discord crowd for fielding my odd little questions about canon, including just how quickly time moves in Hell.
> 
> And a big thank you to [Hermit9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9) for being my beta reader on this story and pointing out where I was contradicting myself.
> 
> The title of this fic is borrowed from a line in My Chemical Romance's song "Mama".
> 
> I'll stop babbling now and leave you all to read this story in peace C:

“Use the gloves, dammit!” Dean yelled as Sam instinctively started reaching out towards the black leather bound Bible on the floorboards of the old lumber mill.

As Sam’s fingers hovered a hair’s breadth from the softly worn book, Cas aimed a kick and struck the Bible away from Sam. Rushing past Sam, Cas hurried over to the cursed tome, thick black rubber gloves on, and scooped up the Bible. This was folllowed by Jack jogging forward, holding open an oak chest that was covered in carved wards. Cas placed the Bible inside and the chest was closed, a sizzling sound following as the iron bindings around the chest made contact with each other again. With the Bible stowed safely away, Dean walked over and locked the chest, its key falling back to a chain hanging around Dean’s neck.

Cas, Jack and Dean looked over at Sam who hadn’t moved from where he’d just been about to pick up the Bible seconds before. Sam was dimly aware that they were waiting on him, that he’d almost done something bad, but he was struggling to hold onto the what and the how. There was a pressure at the back of his neck, the skin prickling feeling of being watched. For a second his skin had felt like it was on fire again.

He drew in a breath, his body and brain catching up with the idea that he hadn’t breathed in a while and that he wasn’t on fire. Sam’s ears popped and he looked over to Dean, Jack and Cas—head light and heavy at the same time.

He saw walls covered in blood. Screams and curses. Then he blinked and it was gone.

“Sorry, guys,” Sam started and then stopped. His mouth was thick like his head. He’d been drawn towards the Bible. Wanted to flip through its gilded edged pages. To climb to the highest point and speak in tongues until the blood drained from his body and he crumpled into a heap. Dead and gone—ready for the next victim. That was what the Bible had wanted him to do. The cursed tome was only meant to call to the desperate, the weak willed, to the-

“Everything okay?” Dean asked, hand landing on Sam’s shoulder. _And when did he walk over?_ Sam wondered confusedly as he tried to understand what was going on.

It only felt like it was a few hours since the four of them had wandered into Salem, Missouri. Again, thoughts below the surface told Sam that it had probably been days since they had embarked on this hunt. The screams, distant but there, started again.

“Just fine,” Sam said, bringing a smile to his lips. “Should have put the gloves on,” he added, patting the bulge in the back pocket of his jeans.

Dean’s eyes narrowed for a second and he nodded. He smiled. “Yeah, well hindsight’s 20/20 or whatever. Come on, let’s wrap this up and get something for the road.”

There was a murmur of agreement from Jack and Cas, but Sam hardly heard it as Dean’s hand landed on the small of his back and steered him towards the doors that yawned open to the sunny fall day outside. Walking outside, the sun warmed Sam through his rust colored jacket and he felt just a touch more like himself.

Blinking as he adjusted to the light, Sam asked, “Can we get pancakes?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, the worry in his voice missed by Sam.

Dean looked at the diner menu or tried to. It was hard to concentrate with Sam sat across from him, next to Jack, his own nose buried in the menu. Sam was adamant he wanted pancakes, he just couldn’t figure out what toppings he wanted. Dean kept exchanging looks over his menu with Cas and Jack. The three of them kept sneaking glances at Sam, but no one knew what to say or do.

“Perhaps, I could check him over?” Cas suggested in a low voice just for Dean to hear.

“Yeah, when we go back to the motel.” Dean swallowed, appetite nearly gone. They’d all noticed the change in Sam that had been slowly building over the past few months. Ever since Michael had been speared and the apocalypse averted. Again.

It had been small things at first. Not remembering where he’d put his wallet or his set of keys. Waking up in the night and walking around the Bunker at all hours. Forgetting the names of vics. Going to look for cases on his laptop and then sitting there, doing nothing. Headaches. But it was never like he was forgetting things, _more like he’s permanently distracted_, Dean thought as he decided pancakes and bacon would be good.

“Sam, you know what you want?” Dean asked as he saw their waitress approach.

“Uhhhh… I….”

“Do you want the pancakes with the berries and the yogurt, yeah?” Dean suggested.

Sam looked up from the menu and nodded slowly. Like taking in that simple suggestion was using all of his brain power to comprehend. He was looking thin and Dean promised to himself he’d make sure more often that Sam was eating.

They ordered, coffees topped up, and Dean tried not to think just what could be wrong with Sam. The problem with being a hunter was that along with the usual WebMD crap a normal person might think of, Dean would also think of all the paranormal things that could be wrong with Sam. But he’d tested him with holy water the other day. Silver another. Iron just the night before. Even a spot of borax. Sam was Sam in terms of his body.

_But where’s your head at?_ Dean wondered. He was unsure if a human problem or a supernatural problem was preferred at this point. He just wanted Sam back. It was like they couldn’t catch a break. To go from facing down Michael, to Sam slowly unravelling—it wasn’t fair as far as Dean was concerned.

_Now I just need to figure out how to ask Sam to let Cas lay his hands on him_, Dean thought glumly. He wondered if he should call his mom yet to let her know something was up, but then realized there was no point in saying anything unless they knew what, what was. If Cas let their legs touch under the diner table just that bit more as Dean’s thoughts crested from hope to hopelessness, neither said anything.

The fluffy cake sat low in Sam’s stomach, weighing every step he took from the Impala to his and Dean’s motel room. He knew they needed to pack up and head on home, but he just wanted to sink into the mattress on the other side of their motel room door. Just stay there for a while and stop trying to think so hard.

Dean must have seen something in his eyes as he unlocked the door and did a quick sweep of the room before standing aside for Sam.

“Hey, you catch 40. I need to talk with Cas about something,” Dean said, concerned eyes hard to ignore.

Sam didn’t have the strength to argue, he nodded and walked to his bed on the opposite side of the room, legs like lead. He kicked off his boots, shrugged off his jacket and stowed his pistol before falling onto the covers, not bothering to pull them back.

The pancakes settled down into something that wasn’t too uncomfortable as Sam curled around a pillow and closed his eyes. He could hear Dean moving around, but he wasn’t focused on it. Sleep came and dragged him down into blackness.

“He’s asleep?” Cas asked as the three of them sat on the beds in Jack and Castiel’s room.

Dean nodded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever sleep Sam was getting, it wasn’t going to help whatever was going on. But he’d looked dead on their feet when they’d reached their room.

“Can you do your thing while he’s asleep?” Dean looked in the direction of his and Sam’s room.

“What do you mean?” Jack piped up.

Dean looked at Jack with frustration and then schooled his face. It wasn’t Jack’s fault that he wasn’t party to Dean and Castiel’s plan.

“Dean wants me to look Sam over and make sure he’s not unwell.” Cas stood up and started towards the door.

“Oh, well there’s definitely something going on,” Jack stated.

“Tell me about it,” Dean grumbled. “Go do your thing,” he said to Cas.

Left alone in the motel room with Jack, Dean sighed and looked around the sparse but clean furnishings. The place was actually a good find for them, considering their usual motel picks. Dean’s frustration churned inside of him, because it really felt like they just couldn’t catch a damn break. _You rid the universe of two assholes and you get spat on_, Dean thought. _Well, at least Cas’s wings are starting to heal and the kid’s not all amped up on Nephilim power… Someone might call that balanced. But…_

Jack fiddled with a loose thread on the bed cover he was sat on. “What do you think’s wrong with Sam?”

“No idea.” But Dean could say what it seemed like. When Sam had been doing the trials. When he’d been hallucinating after getting his soul back. All terrible, terrible things that Dean really didn’t want to go into detail with Jack.

A scream spilt through the rooms, and Dean was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the room next door as other motel patrons peeked through their blinds and open doors.

Shoving the motel door open, Dean looked on in horror as Cas stood over Sam and his brother writhed on the bed. His eyes were closed but he was thrashing away as if he was battling for his life.

“It just started,” Cas said over the noise, “I hadn’t even touched him”

“He’s gonna hurt himself!” Dean panicked, rushing over to the bed. He tried to hold Sam’s wrists down and then Cas went to Sam’s ankles and tried to hold those down too. Sam continued to struggle and whimper.

He was pleading, but not in a language that Dean readily recognized. “What is that?”

“Enochian.”

“What’s he saying?”

Cas gave Dean a sorrowful look. “He’s saying, ‘Please, please, please—don’t hurt me.’”


	2. Restless

Opening crusty eyes, Sam looked blearily up from the pillow under his head and met Dean’s gaze across the space between their beds. His brother looked tired. Movement from by the door revealed Cas.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greeted. “How you feeling?”

Sam’s body ached as he tried to move into a sitting position and he noticed that there were bruises around his wrists. Like he’d been held down. “Tired. Sore.” His head ached.

“Sorry about that, but you were going to hurt yourself,” Cas offered, walking over to Sam’s bed.

“What happened?” Sam asked, finding it a struggle to recall what he’d been dreaming about. He tugged and pulled at the sleep memories falling through his mind like grains of sand through open fingers. But one grain remained stuck to him and gave him an idea of what had visited him. Deep dark black eyes. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know, some kind of nightmare? But you were thrashing around like you were fighting for your life there. We were worried.” Dean rubbed at his thighs through his jeans. “Look, do you mind if Cas checks you over?”

Sam looked from Dean to Cas and then back. He swallowed hard and let out a long breath. “I uh,” a parade of all the times he hadn’t quite been himself lately started in his head, “okay.”

Cas stepped over to Sam’s bed and Sam swung his legs over the side, remaining sitting on the edge. Sam nodded and closed his eyes. He felt Castiel’s cool hands come to rest on either side of his temples.

“Just relax, Sam,” Cas reassured.

And Sam tried. He attempted to not think and let himself be an open book. But within moments Cas was stepping back and Sam was opening his eyes. Cas frowned and looked from Sam to Dean.

“I can’t get a read on him,” Cas announced, puzzled. “There’s something blocking me. You’re not blocking me, are you Sam?”

“Not that I know of,” Sam replied, worry and fear about what this could all mean started creeping up into his thoughts. A curse. Witches. _Or something to do with those black eyes…_

Cas looked to Dean, back to Sam, and maybe he exchanged a look with Dean, but Sam didn’t know what. Dean stood up and clamped a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Let’s pack up and head home to the Bunker. Maybe you’d feel better in your own bed.” Dean gave Sam’s shoulder a hard squeeze and then he walked over to his duffel.

Sam nodded dumbly and then tried not to gag as his nose was suddenly overloaded by the scent of sulfur. He looked around wildly, but it was just the three of them there in the room and the salt lines by the windows were intact.

Breathing only through his mouth, Sam followed Dean’s lead as Cas headed next door. He packed his things, maybe not with the speed he had been conditioned to do, but he fetched everything and put it in his duffel. He didn’t say anything about the smell to Dean or Cas, _if it’s really there… they would say something_, Sam realized with a growing sense of dread.

When they were ready to leave, Sam stepped out of the room, and looked around the motel’s exterior. Taking in the cars, nosey curtain twitching neighbors and the relative peace, Sam wondered quite what was going on with him.

“Hey, Sam,” Jack piped up, coming from around the side of the motel. “Picked this up for you, here.” Jack held out a smoothie cup, filled with something very, very green.

“Uh, thanks.”

“It’s the super green machine, the guy called it. There’s kale and stuff in it. All those things you like.”

Sam smiled and took the offered smoothie cup. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The four of them finally piled into the car and started for the road. Sam was glad to be leaving Salem, Missouri, but as they reached the highway and Sam looked out into the yellow long grass of the past summer that lined the sides of the road, he saw a long black snout and two red glowing eyes. He looked from his smoothie and back over his shoulder towards what he thought he’d just seen.

_No way that was a Hellhound… right?_

Lebanon was quiet and unassuming as Dean pulled up on the main street. It had taken over eight hours to return to the small town, but he needed to pick up some supplies if they were going to make it until he could do a real shop to restock their usual at the Bunker. Cas joined him as he went into the grocery store. Sam was asleep on the front seat and Jack was keeping an eye on him.

They just needed some milk, eggs, bread and maybe some bacon and a few apples or something and Dean was sure they could be on their way. Cas hovered as he shopped, more like a shadow than someone who was helping him. Dean was glad the drive back had been uneventful. Uneventful was good. Still, they didn’t know what was wrong with Sam.

All those times in his life and he’d been able to look after and out for Sam, and Dean felt like this was becoming one of those times that he’d fail his brother. He feared not being able to help him. Was scared that there was only downhill from where they were. That had been the outcome of every time he’d been unable to go far enough for Sam.

“You’re doing all you can,” Cas said, as if sensing Dean’s thoughts.

Dean tensed his shoulders then let them drop. He looked out the store window towards the parked car and Sam curled up in the passenger seat, head pressed against the window.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it. We’ve got nothing.” Dean picked up a bag of bread and put in his basket.

“We have Sam. Each other. And one of the biggest libraries on lore in the world,” Cas stated.

Dean’s hand curled around the end of the plastic wrapper that covered the bread. “What if it isn’t magical, Cas? What if… What if he’s finally been through too much and he can’t cope anymore?”

Cas reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder. His hand was both heavy and light, reassuring and familiar. “We’ll find doctors who can help him. Use some of those medical insurance cards you have. We’ll find a way and Sam is going to get better.”

“But what could it be?” Dean asked as he turned to Cas. They stood in each other’s space and Dean was both aware and unaware of this as his despair threatened to engulf him.

Castiel’s hand fell back down to his side. “He could be reliving trauma from the Cage. Talking in Enochian, asking to not be hurt… I can imagine that being something of his memories from then.”

Dean nodded and turned to get on with picking up the rest of their groceries. “Did we have much coffee left before we went on the case?”

The Bunker’s quiet is reassuring to Castiel as the four of them make their return. There is something to be said for the fortified location’s normal electrical hums and shifting pipes. The buzz of wards and solid echoes.

Castiel helped Dean put away groceries and start a fresh pot of coffee while Jack coaxed Sam to the library to check out something on Jack’s laptop. Some puppy videos or something. But even Jack threw Castiel a worried look as he led Sam to the library like the man had become some kind of timid, gentle giant.

“He’s having nightmares,” Dean said, as if continuing their grocery store location. “Maybe if we knew what the nightmares were about, we’d be able to start helping him?”

“He doesn’t seem to recall what he’s dreaming about,” Castiel noted as he looked in the cupboard where they kept the coffee mugs. “And as I can’t gain access to his mind or anything, really, there is no way for me to gently… observe what’s happening when he dreams.”

“Is there a way we can help him remember?” Dean asked as he placed the sugar and cream next to the coffee pot.

Castiel set down the mug he had been holding. “Considering the damage that is being done when he is unable to recall these dreams, these… nightmares, perhaps it’s best that he doesn’t recall them. We could do untold damage by making him remember.”

“But if we don’t know, how can we help?”

Castiel looked to the bubbling coffee maker and the pot as it slowly filled with hot, dark liquid. “If we try anything like this, we need to inform Sam of the dangers and gain his consent first.”

There was a longer than necessary pause from Dean, until finally he said, “Okay, sure.”

Castiel finished making everyone’s coffees to their exact preferences and then carried them to the library with Dean’s help.

A cocker spaniel puppy snuffed at the camera and then fell on its butt as sleep finally overcame it and it ended up sleeping while sitting. The video was cute and Sam knew Jack was only trying to help him, so he appreciated the gesture. It was like Jack had put together a playlist entirely for situations like this and Sam wondered if he had a list of cool classic rock music videos for Dean, or a playlist of guinea pigs for Cas.

The scent of coffee drifted towards Sam’s nostrils, making him instinctively look away from the laptop screen. Dean and Cas walked over to their table and set the coffee mugs down. Sam took in the correct color of his and said thanks to Cas.

“You’re welcome, Sam. But we do have something to discuss with you.” Cas threw Dean a meaningful look.

Dean gritted his jaw and set his own coffee down, choosing to lean against a nearby table rather than sit. “Look, we get that there’s something up with you, Sam. Okay.”

“Okay…” Sam repeated.

“And we’d like to help you get through whatever it is. Thing is, one of your main, uh, symptoms… Cas?”

Cas leaned on the table beside Dean. “You don’t recall your dreams. And we think they may be connected to whatever ails you. With your permission, I would administer a potion that would help you to recall them upon waking.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You may be terrified by the contents of what you do recall. And it could potentially exacerbate your existing symptoms.” Cas pushed off from the table. “It’s your choice whether we do this or not.”

Sam felt a yawning pit inside of him. He didn’t much fancy looking over the side and into its depths, even if the subjects of that pit had been scratching away at his psyche for weeks. He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I need to think about this.”

“Of course,” Cas replied.


	3. Everlasting

Lebanon was an interesting town, as far as Jack was concerned. He was always surprised by how, despite the town’s size, there was a lot happening there. There were two rival book clubs—one that operated out of the town library and the other out of one of the town’s few coffee shops. A well established stitch and bitch group that he wondered if he’d be able to join (he’d been picking up how to do crochet when no one needed him on a case or to train). And there was also a running club, but he didn’t fancy joining that as despite his lack of Nephilim powers, he was still able to surpass the majority of humans physically.

Sometimes, though, he would join Sam on runs, doing his best to keep pace with Sam. Who was no snail when it came to running, which always surprised Jack. He was with Sam on a run as Dean and Cas went to pick up supplies, as they couldn’t live on bacon and eggs alone—though Jack was sure that Dean would try if given half a chance.

Sam set a moderate and bracing pace. Jack worked hard to stay level with Sam as they wound their way through the hills on one side of the town, near the Bunker, and then started making their way down into town. He liked how clear the air felt out here and he hoped that Sam was enjoying the freshness of outside. They’d spent a lot of time cooped up lately, but when Sam suggested going for a run, Jack agreed that it sounded like a good idea.

Turning round a bend in the road, they started on their way into Lebanon proper, taking a route that the two of them had taken dozens of times previously. Jack was glad he was wearing basketball shorts, despite the chill fall air—he was always surprised by how much running warmed up his body. Five minutes later they were running through the main street. Shops were open for the day and people were making their way to work. It was a regular Friday in Lebanon.

“Hey, maybe we could go to Curly’s coff-” Sam started and then stopped, faltering to a complete stop outside the grocery store.

It took Jack a second to realize Sam had stopped running, but he stopped and turned to face Sam. “Hey, why’d we stop?” Jack asked, puzzled.

Sam was staring at a particular piece of sidewalk some twenty foot away. Jack looked at the spot, but there was nothing there except a piece of dried stuck on gum. He turned back to Sam and stepped over to him, concern bubbling up.

“Sam?” Jack tried to keep the worry from his voice, but he was already reaching for his cell in the fanny pack that he used when he went running.

Sam winced and then his mouth opened wide in a silent scream as his hands went up to his face and he started to claw at his own skin.

“Sam!” Jack yelled, rushing to him and trying to hold back his hands. Cell forgotten, Jack desperately tried to wrestle Sam to stop him from hurting himself, but Sam kept thrashing around and then jabbering in Enochian.

Jack could only begin to imagine what this looked like to everyone looking in, but when the police and an ambulance arrived, Jack was not completely surprised. Before he could stop anyone, Sam was being tasered and then taken away in the back of the ambulance.

“Where are they taking him?” Jack demanded as an officer peppered Jack with questions.

The officer grumbled out a response and handed Jack a piece of card with the details of a mental health facility on it. “We need to take him for evaluation, son. This don’t mean he’s being admitted,” the officer explained.

When Jack was finally left alone, he found his cell, which he’d dropped in all the commotion, and called up Dean’s number.

Anger and fear warred inside of Dean as he parked the Impala in the lot beside the clinic Sam had been taken to. He was unsure what he could do, the situation nothing like when Sam voluntarily admitted himself. Being picked off the street while speaking Enochian at a million miles a minute and trying to scratch your own face off doesn’t lend itself to the kind of dialogue where Dean would be allowed to walk Sam out of the place before he ended up going full _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_.

Buzzed inside of the clinic, Dean pulled together the ID he would need to show he was a relative. Jack had done a good job of keeping their details limited to one set that just about lent itself to medical emergencies.

Dean reached the front desk, set behind a protective Perspex screen. The center was clean and clinical—nothing out of place. “Hi, I’m Dean Campbell, here to see Sam Campbell. He was admitted a few hours ago.”

The woman behind the screen, dressed in a plain white polo neck shirt and non-descript black dress slacks gave Dean an appraising look. “We can’t let you see him right now.”

_Dammit. Okay keep your cool…_ “Can I speak with whoever’s assessing him?”

A set of doors opened and closed further down from the front desk and Dean looked up to see a male member of staff, all open neck shirt and simple teal dress slacks. He held a clipboard in one hand. Quirking an eyebrow at Dean, the man asked, “Are you Dean Campbell?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay, Florence, I’ll take it from here.”

Florence sighed. “Fine, but he needs to sign the visitor’s book.”

Dean expected to see a book to sign and was instead slid an iPad. There was a box for him to sign his name and then he was prompted to take a photo using the person facing camera. Dean went through the motions and then handed the iPad back.

If he walked quickly over to the man who had recognized his name, the guy didn’t say anything.

“I’m Doctor Galloway,” Galloway announced as he buzzed Dean through the doors he’d appeared from a moment before.

“Hey. Look, can I see Sam?”

“In the morning. But I need to talk with you.” Galloway led the two of them into a side room that was filled with comfortable seats and a coffee table covered with old magazines. It looked like a waiting area for family members.

Dean took a seat without prompting. Galloway sat down opposite Dean and rested the clipboard on his thigh, pen poised to write on the form there. He kept his body language open and relaxed. Dean found himself copying Galloway as he tried to blend in and present a saner front than whatever was going on with Sam.

“Had you noticed any uncharacteristic behavior from your-”

“Brother.”

“Brother, prior to today.”

Dean dug his hands into his legs just a little harder. “He hasn’t been sleeping well these past few months.”

Galloway made notes on the sheet. “Any nightmares? Substance issues you know of?”

“He hasn’t been taking anything that I know of. But he doesn’t remember what he has nightmares of,” Dean answered carefully.

“Has he been more forgetful of late? Has he been getting any headaches? Seeing or hearing things that aren’t really there?”

_Oh boy,_ Dean thought as he mentally ticked off each of those things. “Uh, a little from each of those columns.”

Galloway nodded like he was some great sage who’d come down from the mountain to solve some impossible problem. “Then we have what happened today—has he done that before?”

Dean swallowed. “He started to thrash in his sleep the other day. We had to hold him down to stop him from hurting himself.”

“And was he speaking in tongues then?”

_Tongues? Oh, wait, the Enochian_. “Yes.”

A frown creased Galloway’s forehead. “I’d like to keep him for a few day’s observation. There’s no need to admit him into a full facility if this is just a case of insomnia going awry, hm?”

“You’re saying you don’t want to send him to an asylum?”

“Treatment facility, and not right now, no. We don’t know just yet if he’d benefit from that level of… involvement.”

“Right.” Dean untightened his hands on his thighs and tried to retain a look of calm.

“Does Sam have a stable home life?” Galloway crossed his legs at the ankle.

Dean didn’t want to lie, because lying could hurt Sam, but it wasn’t exactly like he could go blabbing their actual lives to a psychologist. “We travel a lot for work.”

“And what do you do?”

“We’re… salesmen for a popular gun brand. We go to a lot of shows.”

The non-descript answer didn’t appear to faze Galloway, he just gave another nod like this was all making sense. Dean hoped the questioning would be over soon.

“Do you have much family?” Galloway asked, eyes studying Dean closely.

“Only our Mom’s left. We have a lot of friends.”

“How’d your father die?”

“Brain hemorrhage, after a car crash.”

“Interesting. Any known history of ill psychological health in the family?” Galloway quirked an eyebrow again and Dean found himself wanting to shave the offending hair off of the man.

And this was where, if Sam’s previous period of institutionalization had been normal, Dean wouldn’t have to carefully think of something on the spot. “Look… Sam spent some time in an institution previously. He’d been stressed and had trouble sleeping.” _No need to mention seeing Lucifer most of the time or that he’s been to H-E-double L._

“Was he put on medication to treat this?”

“No.”

“Hmmm… Well, like I said, we’ll observe him for a time,” Galloway said as he finished making a series of notes on the paper in front of him.

“We can take a break from the road if that’s what it takes,” Dean offered. He didn’t like the idea of Sam spending time in an institution again. Last time he’d almost had his brain zapped by demons. He had no idea what might happen this time.

“You’d be willing to care for him?”

“Yes.”

Galloway nodded thoughtfully. “That is good to hear. Care in the community can be beneficial. Hopefully this will be just a case of finding out what drug treatment Sam needs and then releasing him into your care, with follow up therapy sessions here.”

“Can I see him?” Dean asked.

Galloway shook his head. “Unfortunately we had to sedate him earlier, so that’s not possible.”

“Tomorrow?” Dean really didn’t like the idea of not seeing Sam that day, but he knew he couldn’t push things too far.

“Come by in the morning.”

“_Awake_,” said a voice that Sam didn’t recognize. But he obeyed and blearily opened his eyes.

He didn’t know where he was, but as he felt the press of restraints on his wrists and ankles and the white vest and sweats he wore, and looked around the plain room, Sam could guess. _Well done, Winchester, gone and got yourself committed? Huh?_ Though Sam looked around a bit more carefully and realized that maybe this wasn’t an actual mental hospital. The space had more of a clinic feel to it—there was a friendliness that he couldn’t quite describe, in the light that shone from the hallway outside.

Settling back against the pillow behind his head, Sam tried to remember what he had last been doing. He’d been on a run with Jack and they’d been going through town and then-

“Red eyes,” Sam murmured to himself. He’d seen what had looked like a Hellhound running right towards him and then it had-

Sam’s mouth felt thick as he followed the memory. The Hellhound had launched itself at him, but where Sam had felt at first like the beast had been attacking him, claws digging in uncomfortably to his sides, it had whumpfed at his hair and licked his face. But he’d been convinced at the time it was attacking him. He’d been hysterical, he was that convinced.

He recalled the wet iciness of the Hellhound’s slobber on his cheek. If that had been real then Sam had no idea what was happening to him.

_And what about that voice?_ “Is anyone there?” Sam called out, not so loud as to bring attention from whoever watched over the patients in the place. He couldn’t see anyone from his prone position on the bed.

“_Release yourself_,” the same voice ordered. It sounded like it was coming over a bad phone line, crackling and phasing.

“If I’m hearing voices, maybe I should be here,” Sam muttered and then he replayed the voice. _That wasn’t English_.

“_Hello_?” he said in Enochian.

But there was no reply.

“Figures,” Sam whispered under his breath and then had his breath taken away from him as a vision pierced through his thoughts. It was of the restraints holding him being released as if by air. Then the vision was gone.

Sam blinked back tears and opened his eyes. There was a weight at the back of his head, like a muscle he hadn’t used in a long time and had just done a rep with and rediscovered. He was familiar with the presence—it had been with him so often many years ago. He didn’t think he was imagining it.

Closing his eyes, Sam focused on the straps and one by one they unhooked themselves and slid open. His head throbbed as he looked around again, but he was able to sit up. Gingerly, Sam pulled back the covers and slung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor tiles were icy cold and Sam couldn’t see any shoes he could wear.

He stumbled a step forward and then the next step was more confident and coordinated. Making his way out of his room and into the hallway beyond, Sam could hear people moving around, but the lights were on low. It was night and there were just a few staff moving around as the patients slept.

Sam walked back into his room and looked around to see if his own clothes were there, but he couldn’t find them as he quietly moved among the cupboards and drawers there. Giving up, he stepped back out of the room, picked right and headed down the hallway, hoping he could find a phone he could use.

“_Here_,” the voice from before said as Sam reached a door to an office. The sign on the door read “Doctor Galloway”. Sam tried the door handle.

“Locked. Just my luck.” Sam felt the weight in his head and he knew, if he pushed his mind just so, maybe the door didn’t have to be locked.

“Sam?” called a man he didn’t know. Sam looked to his right and saw a guy in a white doctor’s coat, name badge swinging with his coat. It read “Dr. Galloway”.

Ignoring the doctor, Sam flexed his mind and the door came unlocked. He heard something like a startled sound from Galloway, but Sam didn’t bother to look back to the man as he quickly hurried inside and jammed the lock with a thought. His head ached dully, but he didn’t care, because there was a phone.

Sam picked up the phone and tried every combination he knew might him an outside line, finally getting # and 9 to work. He dialed Dean’s cell number and waited for his brother to pick up. The air in the room grew thick and Sam tried not to focus on that.

“Hello?” came Dean’s voice through the handset.

“Dean! Dean, it’s Sam. Look, I’m in some medical center, and-”

“I know, Sam. I stopped by earlier.”

Sam wasn’t sure how he felt about Dean stopping by but not staying. And then the door to Galloway’s room burst open as Sam felt a wave of heat blast over him. He looked to his left and a yawning fiery black portal had opened where the end of Galloway’s bookcase had been.

“Sam put down the phone,” Galloway ordered from what seemed like a million miles away.

“Sam, Sammy?!” Dean asked in a panicked voice.

But Sam stared at the fire. “Don’t you see it?”

Galloway looked to where Sam was focused. “There’s nothing but books there, Sam.”

“Sam, what’s going on?” Dean persisted, but Sam ignored him. He dropped the handset, finding himself inexplicably drawn towards the flames.

“_Here_,” the voice from before repeated.

Stretching out a hand, Sam waited to be burned, but instead his hands passed through the flames like they were nothing but a pleasant warm breeze. There was a gasp from Galloway, but Sam ignored it. He felt inexplicably drawn towards the flames, like he was meant to step into them.

“_Are you sure?_” Sam asked of the voice.

“_Yes_.”

Sam stepped into the flames.


	4. Visiting hours

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven that fast, but he was glad no highway patrols were around to pull him over. Jack and Cas had braced themselves as the Impala raced along the dark pre-dawn road. They hadn’t gone back to the Bunker that night, instead choosing to stay at a motel nearby.

“Are you sure you heard Enochian?” Cas asked again as Dean turned a corner a little too sharply for anyone’s comfort.

“Yes, but it wasn’t Sam’s voice speaking it.” Dean had felt his skin prickle when he’d heard “_Here_” over the line.

Cas settled back into silence. Dean didn’t need to look over at him to know that Cas was deep in thought, sifting through all that had happened between then and the intervening weeks. Finally, the clinic loomed in the distance, its plain walls and unassuming aspect a small balm. _We’re coming, Sammy._

Parked up in the lot outside, one of only a few cars there, it was not long after four in the morning. Dean had woken up to the sound of his cell ringing, his heart hammering when he realized that Sam was on the other end of the call. His heart was still beating a dance beneath his rib cage as they walked into the clinic. Dean led the way, but there was no Florence on the front desk now.

Instead he pressed a buzzer on the front desk and waited until a harassed looking Galloway came through the doors that Dean had used some eight hours previously.

“You usually here this late, doc?” Dean asked in an icy voice.

“Mr Campbell, I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s the middle of the night. You need to-”

“What I need is to see my Brother with my own two eyes.” Dean gave a menacing smile. “So I suggest you take us to him, now.”

Cas inched forward, looming beside Dean. There must have been something in their eyes that made Galloway reconsider any threats he could have said. He turned and led Dean back through the familiar doors and then deeper into the clinic. Cas and Jack followed closely behind.

“Something does not smell right,” Cas said just loudly enough for Dean to hear.

Dean sniffed and sure enough, underneath the smell of bleach and antiseptic that permeated the air, there was a hint of rotten eggs. If demons had been there then Galloway was not beyond suspicion either.

Galloway led them into his office and whatever composure the doctor had remaining started to crumble away. “I found Sam, talking on my phone. And then he walked here,” Galloway pointed to a space beside his bookcase, “and vanished.”

Dean and Cas strode past Galloway while Jack watched the door. Dean looked between the Ikea shelves and clean white wall. There was nothing there. And then he glanced down at the floor where the otherwise white tiles had a layer of fine gray dust upon them. He crouched down and put a finger through the dust. It felt like a fine ash. As if a fire had been there.

“How’d he get in here?” Dean asked as he stood up again.

Galloway swallowed nervously. “He was strapped down to his bed. My office door was locked… I don’t know.”

“Jack, water.” Dean turned back to the ashy spot, bumping shoulders with Cas as they crouched low.

“Hey, wait a moment-” started Galloway.

“Nothing to worry about,” Jack replied and there was silence for a moment as Dean and Cas contemplated the spot where Sam had been last seen.

“Picking up anything?” Dean asked Cas.

“Hell.” Cas looked to Dean, worry clear on his face. “It smells of Hell. It feels like Hell.”

The two of them stood upright at the same time. “It must be Hell,” Dean finished.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?!” roared Galloway. Dean and Cas turned to find water dripping down his face as he used his coat sleeves to wipe it away.

“Not a demon,” Jack reported.

“Where was his bed?” Cas asked Galloway.

The good doctor gave him an angry look and then begrudgingly led the way out of his office and further into the clinic. Sam’s room wasn’t far and the four of them went inside, with Jack keeping a watch on Galloway.

“Look, what’s going on?” Galloway asked. “What’s this about demons?”

“Can’t say right now,” Dean said distractedly as he examined the restraints that had been on Sam’s wrists and ankles. The two of them were pretty good escape artists, given the right materials and time, but even Sam’s fingers weren’t long enough to double back over his wrists and manipulate the clasps on the straps.

“Demons, seriously?” Galloway threw his arms up in the air. “Maybe I should just have you all committed.”

Dean looked up from the bed and the strap he’d been closely examining. “How about you tell us again what you saw.”

Galloway ground his teeth for a moment and then let out a long breath. “I saw your brother walk towards that wall in my office and vanish into thin air.”

“And he was strapped to this bed?” Cas pushed.

“Yes.”

“Was he speaking in tongues again?” Dean asked.

“He said a few words that were nothing I understood.” Galloway straightened his back. “Look, if you don’t-”

“Don’t what? You’re gonna call the cops even though my Brother has literally vanished right before you’re damn eyes? Cool. I’m sure that’ll go swell.” Dean took a calming breath. The guy was a civilian, no way he could comprehend just what forces might be at work there. “We’re gonna look at a few more things and then we’ll be out of your hair, once we go looking for Sam.”

“Right.” Galloway folded in on himself a little.

“Now, you got any security footage?”

Ten minutes later, Dean and Cas were crowded around a computer monitor, playing through the camera footage that covered the hallway Sam had come out of.

Cas pointed at the screen. “Here.”

Dean stopped the footage and rewound it a few seconds. He watched with Cas looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“When he reaches the door to Galloway’s room he suddenly stops. Look at the way his head tilts, like he’s listening to someone or something.” Cas tapped the monitor.

Dean replayed the footage again. “What’s he hearing?” Dean looked over at Galloway. “Can you recall any of what he said in tongues. What it sounded like?”

Galloway scrunched up his face. “_You._” Galloway frowned and repeated the word.

“You, in Enochian,” Cas explained. “Sam was talking to something or someone in Enochian.”

“But were they really there?” Dean said doubtfully, looking at the footage. There was no distortion to suggest that some form of being was there at the same time that just couldn’t be seen by the naked eye.

“It’s possible it was telepathy, if Sam was not hallucinating. His disappearance suggests that he was not hallucinating. Perhaps seeing and hearing things we just could not, or were not… permitted to.” Cas backed away from the monitor and Dean did the same.

Galloway looked ready to say something again and Dean’s patience was wearing thin. Sure a regular human doctor couldn’t protect against the weird and wonderful that was part and parcel of Team Free Will’s lives, but he felt like if he’d been allowed to see Sam—none of this would have happened.

“Permitted?” Dean picked up, throwing Galloway another displeased glance.

“I wish Crowley was still alive,” Cas said as he looked around the security room they had all clambered inside of. “He would have a clearer idea.”

“Right, you think this might be Hell related.” Dean nodded. “How?”

“Hell has been without a real leader for a very long time. For us, a few months, but more than half a century in Hell’s time. Perhaps Hell has sought out the closest it can feel to a potential ruler. One of Azazel's children.” Cas pursed his lips and Dean found himself holding his breath as he waited for Cas to say what he’d suspected. “We’ll need to visit Hell to be sure. We have no allies there we can ask.”

Jack looked at the two of them. “We’re going to Hell?”

Dean snapped back to himself and looked at the now very human Jack. “No, you’re staying at the Bunker, in case we’re wrong.” Dean pressed a button on the security PC and begun a recording wipe process. He started for the door, Galloway almost forgotten.

“I am going to call for backup,” Galloway announced. He had the security room phone in hand and was dialing a number.

Cas stepped over to the doctor and touched a finger to his forehead, making Galloway drop to the floor asleep. The three of them made their way out of the clinic and towards the Impala. It was still dark. Dean wasn’t sure where was best to enter Hell from these days. It wasn’t like they made a habit of just strolling in there for the heck of it.

“Do you think Rowena has an idea?” Dean asked as he unlocked Baby.

“Of how to get into Hell?” Cas pulled open the front passenger door.

“Yeah.” Dean stood beside the car, ignoring the cold and trying to think who else might know how to make their way downstairs.

“Unsure. Perhaps… Billie might,” Castiel suggested, voice sounding a little strained at mentioning Death’s name. Dean could imagine that Cas would want to keep encounters with Billie to a minimum after what he’d done to the former reaper. “The ways the garrison used and myself previously would have been sealed up.”

“We’ll call Rowena first. At least she has a cell number.” Dean got into Baby and waited for Jack and Cas to join him. He slotted a cassette into the tape deck of the car and turned the ignition. “Probably best to head for the Bunker anyways.”

A few hours to drive would give Dean time to think about what the heck they needed for a raid on Hell this time.


	5. Bow down

The air was thick and heavy as Sam drew in a long breath, opening his eyes as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He couldn’t see an obvious light source, but he could see his surroundings. A muddy slate covered the walls, the floor a heavy compacted earth. He heard what sounded like a dog panting and he twisted around on his butt, not daring his legs to stand yet.

“Who are you?” Sam looked to the Hellhound that was crouched in the corner of wherever in Hell he was. _It has to be Hell_, Sam thought as he looked at the Hellhound. Its glowing red eyes and pointy ears seemed familiar and he realized it was the hound he’d seen in Lebanon.

The Hellhound gave a deep bark and then padded over to him. He snuffled at Sam’s outreached hands and then bopped him with its massive head. Like he wanted Sam to stand up. Carefully, Sam got to his feet and steadied himself with a hand against a wall. He felt a strangeness at the contact with the wall. A feeling of belonging settled over him, which felt both worrying and right at once.

His head swam a little with the movement, but his mind felt clearer than it had in weeks. “Do you have a name?” Sam asked the Hellhound.

The Hellhound gave a snort and looked up at Sam expectantly.

“Okay, you’re… Zander.”

The Hellhound padded back up to him, its head easily reaching Sam’s elbows. He licked Sam’s right hand. _Zander it is_. Without any further words, Sam allowed himself to be led from the room he’d woken up in. In the distance he could hear the routine of Hell—screams mostly—and Sam felt his ease at the situation slipping.

A part of him knew he should leave, should look to find a way out and back to Earth. But it felt right at the same time to be there. To walk through the halls of Hell with Zander leading him.

Sam didn’t know how long he walked. The halls all seemed to be of the same dull slate, narrowing and widening at times, eternally the same. But after some time, he reached an opening and Zander pressed forward, a sudden eagerness in their movements. Sam squeezed through the opening and stepped into a high vaulted room, the ceiling a distant glimmer.

Atop a dais in the center of the room’s obsidian polished floor was a throne that looked like it was poured metal that had been set in place by fires hotter than anything Sam could imagine. The dark brown surface called Sam over and he slowly stepped towards it, hesitation in each step.

“_Here_,” the now familiar disembodied voice said. Sam felt powerless to resist as his right hand clasped the right arm rest of the throne. The metal was cool to the touch and enticing, so Sam pulled himself into the throne and sat.

“_Welcome home, our King_,” the voice greeted.

Sam felt a chill run down his spine as he sat, Zander at his feet. From between the spaces in the walls, more Hellhounds emerged, surrounding his throne and forming a guard of honor or so it seemed. Then less sure figures stepped into the throne room, demons unsure and hesitant. Some cowering while others gave the illusion of confidence. Sam watched them all as they all bowed down before him.

Calling Rowena had gotten nowhere. Castiel had had the feeling it wouldn’t. That Crowley and Lucifer had not shared much of the paths to Hell with her was unsurprising and she had no current demonic contacts, but she had wished them luck. She’d even gone so far as to call her up if there was any spell work she could help with.

“Ideally, whichever way we take to get into Hell, there isn’t a mass breakout,” Castiel explained as he, Dean and Jack poured over what books they had on Hell and demonic lore back in the Bunker. “And we’re not slaughtered the moment we reach it.”

“What about when you kinda rescued Sam?” Dean tapped a page with a pencil he was using to write notes. “You slipped in then. Didn’t even have a whole bunch of dicks with you.”

“Crowley… secured things during his reign. I suspect Lucifer and Asmodeus probably battened the place down further, despite their base at the asylum. Security was lax in the immediate aftermath of Lucifer’s previous defeat.”

“Purgatory is not an option.” Dean sighed. “Not now, anyway.”

“There are ways to Hell, but we need to find them. It’s not like we can just go and crack the Earth open and head on down.” Castiel closed the book he had been reading.

“What if we find a demon and get them to tell us?” Jack suggested.

Castiel considered the suggestion. “It is likely our only option at this point. Though finding one will take time.”

“Time we don’t have.”

Jack gave them both a puzzled look.

“An hour of our time, is the equivalent of 4.4 days in Hell.” Castiel stood up, thoughts whirring into gear, trying to ascertain where they were likely to find a demon to question.

“So a day in our time is like… what… something along the lines of 3.5 months?” Dean offered.

“A week is just over two years in Hell time.” _And I just don’t know where to go looking for a demon now. Yes, bars and places of ill repute, but that’s like looking for a-_

“And finding a demon these days is like looking for a needle in a haystack.” Dean stood up. “Damn, can’t imagine I’d ever miss those halcyon Apocalypse 1.0 days.” Dean pulled out his cell. “I’m gonna put on some fresh coffee and start calling around. See if anyone’s noticed any demon activity lately.”

“What about a crossroads demon?” Jack stood up as well.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look. Castiel flattened his tie against his chest, trying to think of how to explain that was likely a no go due to Dean and Sam’s past dealings.

“They know not to come when we try to summon them. We may have, uh, burned that bridge too many times.” Dean rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Jack frowned in concentration and then said, “What if I tried to summon a crossroads demon?”

Castiel looked over to Dean who was shaking his head. “No, absolutely not. Last time I know someone acted like bait like that… They made the deal before they could be stopped and question the demon.”

There was much of Dean’s time as a Knight of Hell that Castiel knew little about. But over the years, Castiel had managed to piece together tidbits, including what Sam and Dean had done to Lester Morris.

“But-”

“Look, Jack, we understand that you want to help. And we appreciate it,” Castiel stepped over to Jack and placed a reassuring hand on his right shoulder, “but we don’t want to risk losing you as well.”

“Okay… But if you can’t find a demon any other way, we can try it, right?”

Castiel glanced over at Dean who gave a small nod. Sighing, Castiel looked back to Jack. “If we have no other choice, we will consider you summoning a crossroads demon.”

With the agreement made, they all followed Dean into the kitchen for coffee. There was more scheming and a call around the Hunters’ network to see if anyone had and demonic leads. Castiel just wished that he knew the names of demons that yet still survived. If they knew the name of one, they would likely be able to perform a summoning ritual, but their contacts since Crowley’s death had truly dried up and the new demons who had presented themselves had all been in need of elimination.

“Thanks, Jody… Yeah if you hear about anything, let us know.” Dean ended the call on his cell and picked up his coffee mug. “That’s zero on the demon radar, again. So Jody, Donna, Max, Bobby and Charlie have seen zilch. Jesse graciously texted me and confirmed it was all quiet on the ranch, but said we should come for a holiday sometime…” Dean took a sip of coffee. “The list of remaining useful names in my address book is getting short.”

Jack looked up from the laptop he’d taken into the kitchen. “I haven’t found any news stories or natural phenomena that suggests demon activity.”

Castiel’s lips thinned. “It’s becoming unreliable to count on weather patterns, anyway. Climate change is bringing more frequent extreme weather patterns that would mask demonic activity.” He pushed up from his seat and went over to the coffee maker and started to sort out their second fresh pot.

Once the next pot was on, Castiel leaned against the counter and watched Jack as he continued to scour the internet looking for something that might help them. Dean joined him, standing more in Castiel’s space than was completely necessary.

“I don’t want to use the kid as bait,” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, “end of story.”


	6. Hidden

“Dean said no,” Cas pointed out as he and Jack pulled up. It was night and the crossroads they had reached was about twenty miles away from Lebanon. He had driven Jack to the crossroads in an old truck, but only because he knew Jack was determined to help and Cas was desperate to make sure that he succeeded in staying safe.

“I’m the only one of us a demon will likely show for and who also has a soul.” Jack shrugged. He understood why Cas and Dean didn’t want him to help in this way, but equally he wanted to do his part to help get Sam back. He still wasn’t trained up enough to head into Hell with the two of them and so this he could do.

The two of them stared at the empty crossroads and stayed silent for several minutes. Nothing moved beyond the truck cabin. Jack rubbed his thumb over the raised embossed edged of the old mustard tin he’d found for the task. It already contained everything he needed to summon a crossroads demon—funnily enough the components had all been readily available in the Bunker’s stores.

“Every second I don’t do this, Sam is in Hell.” Jack reached for the door. “I _need_ to do this.” He glanced over at Cas and watched a series of emotions pass over his face.

“Fine, but you must not seal the deal. No yesses, no kisses, no… anything that could be considered agreeing to an offer. Understand?” Cas instructed.

“Yes, I understand. Can we do this?” Jack opened the door and got out of the old truck.

Cas joined Jack, a small garden spade in hand. In silence, they went to the middle of the road and Jack proceeded to dig a small hole and then bury the mustard tin. Just as he tapped down the dirt and stood up, Jack heard a feminine sounding “ahem” from behind him and turned around.

A woman had appeared behind the two of them and looked upon them with the kind of curious gaze that suggested she’d walked in on a pair of dogs sat at a table and playing poker. At least, that’s what the look reminded Jack of.

He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I want to make a deal?” Jack said.

“Castiel, longtime no see.” The demon flipped back her blond hair and crossed her arms over the silky black evening dress she was wearing.

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Cas started.

“Oh, but clearly you are. Having this… child summon me. Incredibly unbecoming.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’ll be leaving now-”

“Wait!” Jack stepped forward. “We… need information.”

The demon turned back and looked at the pair of them again. “I’m a crossroads demon, not a spy. Run on back home.”

“We just want to take a trip to Hell… and get Sam,” Jack offered.

There was a sigh from Cas beside him and Jack realized that he’d just given over leverage. But the demon quirked an eyebrow.

“So… you know Sam’s there.” She patted down her arms and stretched. “Okay, fine. What do you need?”

“A route into Hell,” Cas explained.

The demon pursed her lips and gave the two of them an appraising look. “You’ll head in and get him out?”

Jack was about to say something when Cas put a hand on his shoulder and motioned him to stay quiet.

“Why are you helping us?” Cas asked.

“Let’s just say I am not happy with our current, uh, political situation back home. You getting Sam out of there would be super helpful.”

“Political situation?” Cas pressed.

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to tell us anymore than that?”

The demon rolled her eyes. “Hello, de-mon!” she pointed at herself. “I’m not meant to really be helping you.”

“Fine, tell us a route and we’ll be out of your hair,” Jack interjected. He smiled and shrugged Castiel’s hand off of his shoulder. “Please.”

All Dean could hear was the ticking of the clock hung on one wall in the vastness of the map room, and his own breathing. He’d woken up from a nap and had gone looking for Jack and Cas, but he’d been unable to find them. It was not long after three in the morning and Dean knew they’d be back, because not long after realizing he was all alone, he’d gone to the stores and noticed they were running low on black cat bones. Afterwards, he’d found a bottle of whiskey and set up his vigil.

A whining metallic creak echoed through the space and Dean looked up. A moment later. Cas and Jack started stepping down into the Bunker proper. The two of them were exchanging hushed whispers, and hadn’t even noticed Dean sat and waiting for them.

“So,” Dean called out, “you went and did it anyway.” He stood up and marched over to Jack and Cas as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Dammit, I said we weren’t-”

“We have a way in,” Jack announced. “And I haven’t sold my soul.”

Dean stopped. He looked at the two of them, trying to see the lie. He stared at them for two solid minutes, before pulling back and letting out a long breath.

“You really have found a way in?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded. “Though it might be one way. We’ll likely need another way out.”

_But we have a way in_. Dean didn’t afford himself a smile, but he let his shoulders relax. “Okay, where is it?”

“Doctor Galloway’s office,” Cas said.

“Figures,” Dean turned around, “okay, what do we need to get in?”

Cas and Jack filled Dean in on the details and he didn’t say anything when they mentioned they’d let the crossroads demon live to deal for another day. They were getting a plan together and that’s what he needed, something to focus on and do. Every second he wasn’t on his way to Sam, it was time that Hell sunk its claws in a little deeper again.

He just hoped that if Hell had drawn Sam in of its own accord that he’d be able to pull Sam back out. Filling his shotgun with salt and iron rounds, Dean asked Cas, “What if Hell just tries to take Sam back again?”

“We need to get Sam to announce a new leader and Hell should respect his abdication, so to speak.” Cas pushed Ruby’s knife towards Dean, their fingers brushing as Dean took the knife. “Then we run.”

Dean tucked Ruby’s knife into the jacket he was wearing. “We’ve had worse plans.”

Jack slid over some bullets he’d been marking with mini Devil’s traps. “You’ve had worse plans than going into the bowels of Hell, persuading someone to abdicate and then running for your life?” Jack asked, tone serious rather than mocking.

Dean laughed. “Sure, we’ve had worse plans.” He met Castiel’s eyes across the table. “I think this ranks there with the grenade launcher. Sam and I weren’t sure if we were going to end up with the whole Bunker down on top of our heads.”

“And throwing holy oil molotovs at Michael and yelling ‘Hey, assbutt!’” Cas added.

“Oh yeah, it definitely ranks up there with that,” Dean chuckled, eyes crinkling. The situation was desperate, but he had to believe that they could make a difference. That getting Sam out of becoming the new King of Hell was entirely possible.

“What do you want me to do while you’re there?” Jack asked. “I can’t just do nothing.”

Dean pulled the Devil’s trap bullets towards him. “The moment we step through the portal, start a timer on your cell. Once it hits an hour, call Jody, Rowena and Donna. Hopefully the four of you can get a rescue plan together. Maybe Max Banes too.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll need to keep watch in Galloway’s office. Ensure the route is not compromised,” Cas added.

“Do you think Galloway will be okay with this?” Jack asked in a worried voice.

Frowning, Dean set down the magazine clip he’d been loading with bullets. “No. But I think we can keep him out of the way…” Dean thought a little more, about what their cover would be for going there in the day. “We’ll be independent auditors… reviewing his case history on behalf of his… insurers.”

It was a longshot cover, but more appropriate than pretending they were feds and easier to do than saying they were medical professionals. Going back to their preparations, Dean paid little attention to the spell ingredients Cas was combing together so they had something ready to go the moment they entered the office.

When they were ready to leave, they piled into the Impala and headed back towards the clinic. The sun had yet to rise and the roads were deserted. Dean didn’t pray as he drove, he just kept thinking through the plan. Cas had recalled some of the layout of Hell and from what their demon info suggested, it wouldn’t be too difficult to navigate from Galloway’s office to where Sam was likely to be.


	7. Welcome to the parade

“We need more feet on the ground, so to speak,” a squat male demon said, as Sam reclined on his throne. The demon was without a meatsuit, instead Sam gazed upon its true form: writhing snakes sticking out of something vaguely humanoid. And where the demon’s head might be, there was a cratered skull that no longer had any essential parts.

“Why?” Sam asked, trying to focus on the conversation. He looked towards the goblet by his right hand and without asking, it was suddenly filled again by a squirming presence that Sam didn’t dare look upon.

“We haven’t had the chance to focus on, well, sir, raising a little hell, for quite some time.” The demon took a step closer to the throne and Zander growled at the demon, forcing it to step back.

Sam brought the goblet to his mouth and tried to recall a reason as to why he shouldn’t be drinking from it. He took a sip, the thick iron and rotten egg like substance mixed with nutmeg was heavy in his mouth as he swallowed. His body warmed as he drank and he felt his awareness of the vast hall broaden again. Feeling the demons that mingled and moved around him and his hounds.

Sam ran a finger up and down the side of the goblet. “And if I allow you to go, what will you do for me?”

“There’s this convent in Sao Paulo that I’ve had my eye on. And I believe I can bring you at least fifty souls, should you allow me to make deals.” The snakes on the demon shifted and hissed.

None of the other demons gathered around the edges were making signs of objecting to this proposal. Sam found himself thinking that it was a good deal and then stopped himself. _What am I doing here?! _He thought in alarm. _I’m about to okay a demon to head topside who’s planning on maximizing their body count?!_

Sam tried to form the words to say that he thought that this was not okay, that the demon could go and crawl back into whatever hole it had come from. He was ready to say anything to that effect, but as he tried to form the words in his mouth, instead what came out was, “Do it.”

He threw a hand to his mouth, a small gasp escaping from him as he did.

“_You’ll rule, that is what you will do. You will be our King_,” the voice from before said to Sam. “_It is your duty_.”

Sam wanted to get up from the throne and run, wanted to get up and leave. Find a way out. But as Sam’s hand moved of its own accord and he swallowed another sip of the substance within the goblet, which he was beginning to realize was likely demon blood, his thoughts of fleeing died down and he went back to business.

“Do it,” Dean said, placing his car keys on Galloway’s desk, as the three of them stood in the corner of the office, the door locked. It hadn’t taken much to convince the doctor to stay away and use their cover.

Cas started chanting in Enochian, lighting a tied bunch of herbs with a match. The smoking mass stank of lavender and sage, corrupted oak and a host of other things that Dean knew had no right to be burned together. Thankfully they’d deactivated the room’s smoke detector before they started. Taking a step closer to the shelves, Dean dipped a brush in the bronze bowl of lamb blood he was holding and started painting some archaic symbols on the wood. It was an old dialect of Enochian Cas had told him.

Castiel’s chanting intensified and Dean set down the bowl of blood with the brush, and picked up his shotgun and patted his handgun in the back of his pants and the demon blade in his jacket. He felt the extra weight of ammo in his pockets and tried to feel ready for this. He ignored any attempts by past memories of Hell to surface and focused on his goal: _Sammy_.

The books on the shelves started to shake and then from nothing a fire lined black portal appeared, obscuring the shelves that were there. Sulphur and decay met Dean’s nostrils and he held back the urge to gag. Through the portal he could see rocky walls and a dirt floor.

“I’ll go first,” Dean said, stepping past Cas.

“Dean, I think we should-”

Dean didn’t get to hear what Cas was going to say, because the moment he stepped through the portal, the space began to shake and there was a crumbling sound behind him and he turned to find the portal closing up behind him.

“CAS!” Dean yelled, but it was too late and he was trapped within the narrow rocky passage. It was dim in there, but he could still see.

Heart thumping heard, Dean tried not to panic. He’d been kind of relying on the fact that Cas would be with him. A familiar presence as he walked into a place that held a lot of bad memories, seemed like a good idea. But now he was alone he had no idea how to find Sam.

Dean didn’t know if waiting for Cas there was a good idea. He pulled out the demon blade and carved an arrow that pointed the way he was going. He started walking down the narrow passage, making a new notch in the rock every fifty yards or so.

The further along the passage Dean walked, the louder the screams and other all too familiar sounds of Hell got. He tried to push them out of his thoughts and continue, but then stopped as he reached a fork in the passage. There was the way he’d just come from behind him, and then three other passages. Two looked to slope downwards, but another sloped up.

Looking around, Dean couldn’t see any demons or lost souls, so he marked the passage he’d come from and then studied the others.

“If I was the new King of Hell, where would I be?” Dean wondered under his breath, turning on the spot. He turned around slowly several times, looking at his choices. _I suppose I’d want to be above the muck, rubbing my position in everyone else’s faces. Plus, I’d probably want to be as far away from the Cage as possible._

Dean settled on the passage that sloped upwards. He marked a notch beside its entrance and started to walk again. The sides of the new passage widened and narrowed randomly, the screams falling back a little as he walked. He tried to focus his hearing on the sound of a potential ambush, but there was little movement.

That the screams were quieter there was little comfort to Dean. The memories of what he’d done on the rack were always just in reach and the guilt and self-loathing that went with it. Instead he focused on a different guilt—how he’d not realized that something more serious was going on with Sam. Not that any of them could have easily predicted that Hell would pull this move. _It’s going to be fine, Sam. I’ll get you out_, he thought as he carved another notch in the rock beside him.

A passage off to his left just ahead drew Dean’s attention, but he decided to keep heading upwards. He knew he could go back to it if where he was heading didn’t pan out.

The passage he was in seemed longer than the last one, but eventually it started to plateau and he could hear something that wasn’t just distant screams, instead it was the sound of low chatter and shifting figures. Ahead was a narrow opening. Steeling himself, Dean headed through it and walked out into a large space with a high vaulted ceiling. The floor was black and shiny and in its center was a wicked looking throne, and sat on it was Sam. Surrounding him were Hellhounds and demons, in various forms.

Sam’s eyes snapped onto him, going wide. “Dean?” he said in an unsure voice.

Dean looked either side of him and noticed that the demons weren’t running to him straight away. The Hellhounds watched him with beady red eyes, but made no move to stop him.

“Hey, Sam.” Dean took a step closer and nothing went for him. Taking a deep long breath, he started walking to Sam, keeping his pace even. He tried to ignore the hounds that surrounded Sam, their forms making goosebumps rise on his skin.

Nothing lunged at him, which was a bonus, but getting closer, Dean could see blood on the front of Sam’s white top. Reaching the dais that held the throne Sam was sat on, Dean climbed up, taking care not to step on any hounds and finally he was beside his brother.

“What… are you… doing here?” Sam stirred on the throne, but made no attempt to get off of it.

“Couldn’t just have you go to Hell,” Dean gave a grin, “and not have any backup.”

Sam just nodded to that and Dean got closer. Sam’s skin was waxen and pale, his hair was greasy and clumping together. He still had muscle, but it was like there was a sickness to him. Like a fever was burning through Sam and Dean wasn’t sure who would be left on the other side.


	8. The great escape

The first thing Castiel tried was the same ritual, with Jack painting the same symbols as Dean. It didn’t work. The second thing he did was phone their main allies and let them know that there were now two Winchesters in Hell.

“But none of them know a way in,” Jack pointed out as Castiel hung up on Max Banes.

“I know.” Castiel paced Galloway’s office and started to wrinkle his nose at the leftover smell from the ritual. He stepped towards what small windows the office had and slid one open, eyes trained on the bars that studded the outside of the building. It was well into the morning by this point.

“Is there anyone else we could talk to?” Jack came to stand beside Castiel, and looked out the window with him.

Castiel had someone he could call on, but he really didn’t want to. “I could try speaking with Anael. She may have an idea. At least she’ll talk with me. Heaven… not so much.”

The air clearing, Castiel tasked Jack with cleaning up the bloody sigils as he tried to call Anael. The call rang and rang until it was picked up by voicemail.

“Sister Jo can’t answer the phone right now,” said Anael’s voice, “but leave your name and number and I’ll back to you as soon as I can. May God be with you.”

There was a beep. “It’s Castiel…” Castiel began and then gave his cell number. He ended the call and looked at the job Jack had been doing. The shelves were clean and the room smelled less like a failed attempt to reach the depths of Hell. Castiel closed the window and tidied their things into the box they had brought it all in.

Picking up Dean’s car keys, Castiel tried to keep calm. He’d pulled both Winchesters from Hell before, but this was different. With still healing wings and grace that was limited in its power, Castiel felt even more ill suited than before the failed breach to head into Hell.

Jack and Castiel headed out of the clinic and to the Impala, ignoring Galloway’s questioning, but giving him a card with Castiel’s number on. They made Galloway promise to call if either Dean or Sam turned up in the office. The poor doctor didn’t know what to make of that request.

Just as they reached the Impala, Castiel’s cell began to ring. He handed the box of spell components to Jack and answered it when he saw Anael’s name on the caller ID.

“Anael?” Castiel queried.

“Castiel, long time no… whatever. What do you want?” Anael huffed.

“To talk. Face to face. Can we meet?”

“Hmmm, depends. You still slumming it in Kansas?”

“Yes.” Castiel thought about their last meeting and how he might draw her in.

“Well, you’re in luck. So am I.”

“So you’ll meet with me?”

“Only if you bring a token of your esteem.” Anael sniffed. “Actually, I’ll come to you. Where’s that bunker of yours?”

Castiel explained how to reach the Bunker and ended the call. They were closer to it than Anael, and headed back towards it without delay. Driving the Impala felt wrong, it was so very much Dean and Sam’s car, but especially Dean’s, but he had no real choice.

They made good time back and Castiel was busy listing the ways he remembered to get into Hell, but he was sure all of them were no more. _Still, Anael may know more, now what could I give her?_

“What should I give Anael?” Castiel wondered out loud, sat at the map room table.

Jack pushed a cup of coffee towards him and sat beside him. “Well, that time you two met for coffee to discuss Heaven, you said you brought her earrings. And they were cursed.” He took a sip of coffee. “So, what about that Bible we picked up? I bet she’d, uh, get a kick out of that.”

“Now that you mention it.” Castiel drank some coffee and set his mug down. “I’m sure a gift like that would be right up her alley.”

Jack gave Anael his most serious face as she settled into the seat she’d been offered at one of the library tables. He found her presence unsettling, but mainly because she was the first angel he’d encountered in some time. She sat down gracefully, rather than falling into the seat, flicking her auburn hair over her shoulder and giving Jack a hard stare. He found her choice of clothes very different to what he’d seen other angels wear, more colors and softness. It was all at odds with how she looked at him.

“Human now, huh?” Anael leaned in, chin in her hand.

“Yes. For some time now.”

“Glad to see it’s working out for you kid. I hate to think what might have happened if it hadn’t,” Anael replied with a menacing smile.

“Here it is,” Cas called, coming into the library with the Bible’s curse chest in tow. “Sorry it took so long.” Sitting down beside Jack, Cas pushed the chest towards Anael.

“Before I open this, tell me where the brothers Winchester are.” Anael pulled the chest closer.

“That’s why I needed to speak with you,” Cas started. “You see, they’re both in Hell. Actually, Sam was taken by Hell to be its new King, from as far as I can tell, and Dean ended up there alone when we went to rescue him.”

“Hold the phone, Hell’s chosen Sam as its new King?!” Anael sat back in her seat, the box forgotten. “Wow. Didn’t actually see that one coming. I figured there was a demon there that it would like well enough.”

“Apparently not.”

“So why aren’t you on the rescue mission with Dean?”

Jack looked at his lap and then back to Anael as he felt Cas tense beside him.

“The portal closed before I could join Dean in our rescue mission. In fact I was surprised that the portal did close.”

“How much lavender did you use?” Anael started towards the box again. She unlatched it and opened the chest before pulling out the Bible from inside. “Cool cursed Bible. I like it.”

“You think it was the lavender?” Cas asked.

“It’s always the lavender.” Anael set the Bible back in the chest and closed it. Jack noticed she didn’t push the box way and took that to mean that she accepted the gift.

“Either way, the portal we used would no longer open for us. Regardless of the amount of lavender we used.” Cas leaned forward in his seat. “I need to find another way into Hell.”

“And you want to know if I know any ways in that you don’t?”

“And be backup.”

“Backup too? That’s a pretty big ask, Castiel.”

“You did assist Lucifer.”

Jack watched as the two angels stared at each other. It was like they were carved from stone though something passed between them, but Jack could not sense what. They sat like that for some minutes until finally backing away at the same moment.

“Fine, I’ll help.” Anael flicked her hair over her shoulder. “There’s one portal you might not have known of. It’s always open these days. Mostly because it’s just a pain in the ass to get in and out of.”

“Where?” Cas relaxed back in his seat.

“Around 20 feet from the bottom of the Empire State Building.” Anael smiled. “You just sort of fall into it. At speed.”

Jack looked at the pair of them, eyes wide. “That’s insane.”

Anael turned her smile on him. “More, exhilarating. But I can see why you might be concerned. Castiel and I will be fine. So. Shall we? It’s a long drive to New York City.”

Jack helped Cas pack what they needed into Castiel’s truck, as he didn’t want to dare driving the Impala that far across the country. They also gathered up more demon busting supplies, as apparently both Cas and Anael didn’t fancy just relying on their angel blades.

“I do prefer my blade,” Cas said when asked. “But there are times when guns can be useful, with the right ammo, of course.”

“Of course.” Jack placed the final bag and closed the trunk. “How much more time would have passed by the time we reach this new portal?”

Cas stopped beside the driver’s door of the truck. “More than 92 days in Hell’s time.”

Jack struggled some to imagine that length of time. To him did sound like a small eternity, considering his own short existence so far. He suspected it would feel like an eternity to Dean and Sam. Anything could have happened to them in that time and Jack didn’t want to think what that might include, but he knew it was probably nothing good.

“Ready?” Anael called from the other side of the garage.

“I thought you were driving yourself,” Jack pointed out as he stood beside the front passenger door.

Anael grimaced. “Engine won’t start.”

It was at that point that Jack realized he was going to be crammed in the truck cabin with Cas and Anael for over 21 hours and suddenly he was feeling less sure about taking such a long journey. _And what about sleep?_

As if reading Jack’s thoughts, Anael winked and said, “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I won’t draw a mustache on your face.”


	9. Rescue

Time held no real meaning in Hell. At times Dean felt tired, but sleep never really came to him. His thirst and hunger were near absent, but then nothing in the place would slake his thirst or fill his stomach. Sam, meanwhile, had a goblet with him much of the time and Dean knew what was in it, but every time he tried to take it from Sam, the Hellhounds would growl and the demon court would step closer.

Dean stood by Sam’s side as he passed orders and judgement. Souls torn asunder and demons punished or promoted. It was all terrible how easy it was coming to Sam—Dean didn’t want to see his Brother act the part of King. Sometimes Sam would talk in Enochian to someone Dean couldn’t hear or see, but he started to suspect may have been Hell itself.

They were never alone and Dean needed to figure out how he could get Sam to agree to abdicate and announce another demon as ruler of all of Hell. There were a few demons he had been keeping his eye on who maybe he could suggest to Sam as potential successors. Belphegor was one of them. A demon with two goat heads and cruelty behind his eyes, plus the right level of cunning that reminded Dean a little of Crowley.

At some point Dean had found the library beside the throne room and had been reading as much as he could, though struggling with some of the older languages involved. He had at least found one book that confirmed the abdication nomination theory Cas had suggested—he just needed to get the chance to talk to Sam. Alone.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean started on day he didn’t know what, “can I have the tour?”

There was a muttering around the court and the Hellhounds, including the one called Zander, looked at the two of them. Dean held his breath, hoping he hadn’t given himself away. Sam looked at Dean, like it was the first time he was really seeing him.

“Okay, sure… Zander, with us.” Sam stood up from his throne, for the first time since Dean had arrived.

Dean walked behind Sam as they descended the dais, Zander taking the lead, and started walking towards a hole in the wall that Dean believed was the one he’d originally come in through. The court’s eyes followed them as they walked, Dean could almost feel them searing into the back of his head until they were finally in the passageway proper.

Zander walked a discreet, protective distance ahead of the pair of them as they went deeper into Hell. Dean watched Sam’s gait as they walked, at first it was still and unsure but the more they walked—the further they got away from the throne—the more Sam moved around easily. Every so often, Dean’s notches appeared on one side of the passage, but no one paid them any notice.

“So, obviously where we were is the throne room. It connects to a series of passageways that reach throughout Hell,” Sam explained slowly. “Like, obviously it’s at the top of Hell. The circles of Hell are more than what Dante described, and more arranged by punishment type than the type of sin committed, I’d say… punishment type and intensity.”

_This is more than Sam’s said to me since I got here_. “What about the Cage?”

“Well, that’s like the most severe punishment in some ways that we have, and it’s right at the bottom. The deeper you go, the worst it is.”

Suddenly they were at the crossroads Dean had come to. “Say, Sam can we stop here a sec. Just need to catch my breath.”

“Of course.” Sam smiled and stood beside Dean as he pretended to take in huge gasps of air.

“Say… have you thought… I dunno about maybe giving the throne to someone else? Like, nominating a successor and abdicating?” Dean stretched his arms over his head, cool and casual like.

Sam tilted his head to the side, eyes focusing on Dean. “I hadn’t.”

Dean cracked his shoulders. “Just… I thought you had other plans. You know? Finish digitising the library? Set up a way of teaching the hunters of tomorrow? Plans, Sam, plans.”

“I… did. I do.” Sam gave Dean a confused look. “But who would I name?”

Dean stretched his arms again. “Hmm, that Belphegor seems pretty put together. Hear a lot of positive feedback on his torture techniques.” _I can’t believe I am having this conversation._

“That’s true.” Sam nodded.

Dean stilled. “Just something to think about. Okay?”

“Okay.” Sam looked toward the way they had come. “I think we should head back.”

Castiel stood steady as high winds whipped at his hair, tie and trench coat. Anael stood beside him, looking over the side of the viewing platform that they needed to fall from. They were using a simple glamor in hex bags to stop people panicking. It wasn’t quite invisibility, and cameras might pick them up, but it was better than nothing.

A tourist group were getting a photo opportunity of a lifetime on the other side of the platform. No humans could see what they had done to the protective fencing on this side. Another touch of magic, temporary and every moment they spent there not jumping there was a chance it would solidify again.

“And we jump through a chasm in the throne room to return?” Castiel quadruple checked.

“Yep.”

“This could all go wrong. We might not succeed.” Castiel’s mouth thinned. “We may be lost forever in Hell. The court may kill us.”

Anael looked at Castiel. “Yeah that could all happen. I could just push you off the edge here and let you deal with that mess.”

“Why aren’t you?” Castiel returned Anael’s gaze.

“I owe… us. For what I enabled… You’re right about that.”

Castiel looked back to the railing. “I don’t know who or what we’ll find in Hell,” he admitted. “Time is so fast there. Sam may be too far gone. Dean might be dead or a demon again.”

Anael grasped Castiel’s left hand. “Let’s get this over with and find out, huh?”

Jack waited for the four of them at street level, parked as close as he could get. Castiel hoped they would all be together again soon. He hoped the time Dean had spent in Hell had been nothing like his previous imprisonment there. But what he mainly hoped is that they would be able to get Sam back to his usual self.

“Now,” Castiel said.

Anael and Castiel climbed to the top of the platform railing and leaped.

BOOM!

Sam frowned and twisted around on his throne. The sound was almost like a plane going supersonic, but that didn’t make sense. He sensed Dean and Zander moving beside him, and Sam stood and stepped behind his throne as he watched two angels fall. Their wings were ragged, but strong enough to act as parachutes and help come to a stop in the throne room reasonably unharmed.

The pair landed in a heap and Sam could hear his hounds snarling and his demons shouting, but he held a hand up, silencing all. Dean and Zander walked beside Sam, flanking him as he stepped towards the pair. It took a moment, but the sluggish thoughts in his head cleared and Sam recognized Castiel and Anael.

He reached the two angels just as they regained their feet. Zander growled but Dean stepped forward.

“Cas? Anael?”

“What are you-” Sam started to say.

“_KILL THEM!” _the voice shouted at Sam, making him clutch his hands over his ears.

“No!” Sam said through quickly forming tears.

“Sam, abdicate, just do it!” Dean yelled.

Trying to stand up straight, Sam noticed that the court were getting closer, and closer. Sam snapped his fingers. A demon he didn’t much care for exploded and covered his fellow demons in misshapen inhuman goop and entrails. He snapped his fingers again, and again, until the demons gathered in the court got the message to back off.

The voice of Hell continued to shout in his head, but Sam pushed past its compulsion. He could feel his ears bleeding as he shouted the magic words, “I name Belphegor as my successor!”

“That’s it Sam!” Dean yelled just as Sam fell to his knees, holding onto his head.

“I AM… ABDI…CATING… FROM THE THRONE OF HELL!” Sam screamed. Through his tears, he watched demons trying to get closer as Dean, Cas and Anael crowded around him. Suddenly he was being picked up by someone, Cas he thought and they were running. The whole court erupted around them and Sam may have caught a glimpse of Zander fending off those it could. Guns blasted and there were snarls and shouts.

Sam’s head throbbed as they moved and he just wanted to curl up and not be there. To sleep a pain free eternity. But as Cas jumped with him in his arms down through a chasm in the floor, Sam felt the pain starting to lift from his head. His thoughts started to clear and aside from a familiar thirst at the back of his throat, Sam almost felt like himself again.

Falling took forever, but eventually they stopped.


	10. Epilogue

Snow melted on Sam’s outstretched tongue as he stopped his hike back up the hill to the Bunker. He turned around and looked down towards Lebanon, admiring the way the snow was starting to blanket the town. He’d run to the store to pick up supplies for eggnog, of which they had been running low.

Dean had offered to drive him to the store, but despite the cold, Sam argued he needed the chance to take the walk. He needed to build his stamina up again. And he wanted the chance to savour being alone for a moment, his thoughts and space all to himself. It was nice being around their friends and family for Christmas—they had a packed home with Mary, Rowena, Jody, Donna and the girls over—but Sam still needed some space. Just every now and then.

Sam hadn’t slipped up since getting clean again and thanks to some intense detox magic courtesy of Rowena, he hadn’t felt any cravings since the demon blood left his system. But it had been a painful week getting it out of him again. That part never got any easier, apparently.

_Better get back_, Sam thought and turned back towards the Bunker. He walked steadily, not rushing, but not taking slow steps either. The paper bag under his arm made his muscles ache a little, but it was a good ache. Just like the ache in his calves reminded him that he was himself again and that was all he had to be.

Climbing to the Bunker entrance, Sam stopped just outside the huge iron door. A sniffing, snuffling sound drew his attention towards the tree line opposite the doorway. Sam looked towards the trees and a small, fluffy black figure emerged from the snow covered pines. It was a black labradoodle. Eyes bright and friendly, its steps nervous.

Sam narrowed his eyes and then he knew. “Zander?”

The dark haired labradoodle gave a happy bark and bounded over to Sam. He set down his bag and knelt as the—seemingly—former Hellhound leapt up to his chest and started to lick his face enthusiastically.

“Woah. And it’s good to see you too!” Sam cried happily. He’d been wondering what had happened to his most loyal Hellhound.

The door creaked open behind them. “What’s the hold up?” Dean berated as he poked his head out.

“Just an old friend,” Sam stood up and picked up his bag. “C’mon, boy. Let’s get you a treat.”

Dean looked down and finally saw the dog. “Hang on a moment, wait!”

Zander slipped by and Sam squeezed past Dean.

“Can’t just invite a dog in,” Dean said to Sam and Zander’s retreating backs. “Dammit, already got a full house,” Dean grumbled after them as he closed the Bunker’s front door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> Don't forget, you can find Aceriee's art masterpost for this year on [AO3 here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21345907), and on [Tumblr here](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/spnrb2019htbhell).
> 
> You can find me on Pillowfort at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://www.pillowfort.social/dreamsfromthebunker), Dreamwidth at [hit_the_books](https://hit-the-books.dreamwidth.org/), Tumblr at [hitthebooksposts](https://hitthebooksposts.tumblr.com/).


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